


Timestamp: Guardian Angel

by TheRighteousMan (FullmetalFlameElric)



Series: Growing Pains [14]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Pets, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalFlameElric/pseuds/TheRighteousMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look into the life and times of Schrödinger. From his introduction to his role in Stiles' life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timestamp: Guardian Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This was... a hard piece for me to write. I'd planned on writing it before, but it was written up sooner than planned due to some unexpected news in my life outside of the internet.
> 
> In this, Stiles starts out as 17, then goes to 18, and then 19, ending with Stiles at the age of 25.
> 
> Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go collect myself and stop crying.

He barely looked like a cat when Stiles found him. He was covered in dirt and soaked to the bone, wide green eyes glassy with fever and snot coating the feline’s muzzle. There were nicks in one of his ears, the fur around his face and neck matted in mud and blood. He was probably diseased.

But still, Stiles gravitated towards the cat. He was old, that much was obvious. The fact that the cat was even still alive was shocking enough when considering he was living on the streets. The blue-cream tortoiseshell coat was covered in grime and felt greasy to the touch when Stiles managed to snag him by the scruff of the neck. The cat hissed and bit at him when he tried to heal him. He’d promised Lydia he’d stop, but the poor thing was in pain. But the second the energy shifted as he focused, the cat went ballistic.

So, setting aside his own want to heal the poor thing, Stiles gave up on that route and turned to calming the cat down. Treating it as he would a scared pup, Stiles used steady, light touches to soothe the cat into letting him hold him. The poor thing shivered and curled into him as he lifted it up and cradled it close to his chest.

Checking the time, he sighed and went to the one place he wanted to avoid.

 

Deaton eyed him critically when he found a drenched Stiles standing at the door to his veterinary clinic as he was closing up shop. The rain had become a downpour on Stiles’ walk there and he was currently curled around the pathetically meowing cat. Brown eyes just met the judging gaze of Deaton and Stiles swallowed his pride.

“Please…” he whispered, voice cracking. The more the cat meowed, the more his heart broke.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Deaton unlocked the door and let him in. “Didn’t heal it?” he asked, tone surprisingly mocking.

Stiles just ducked inside and kept his head down, whispering softly to try and calm the cat. “No… No, I’m done… with that…” he added, lifting a glance to the man before looking back to the cat. The cat was safer. The cat wouldn’t look down his nose at him and act as if Stiles wasn’t worthy of human conversation.

Deaton just hummed, leading the way into the back room. “Where’d you find it?”

“Him.” Stiles corrected, hesitating when Deaton gave him a disapproving look. Stiles knew he should have kept his mouth shut. His magick had told him that, reaching out and touching the injured creature when he’d tried to heal him.

“...Done with it, hm?”

“He was hurt!” Stiles snapped in his defence. “It’s the first thing I’ve tried to cast in a month!”

“Yet you tried it anyway…”

Stiles grit his teeth and fixed a glare on the man. “Look… can you just…” he sighed and looked back to the cat. “Please…”

Deaton eyed him critically for a long moment. “ANd what are you going to do once I’ve helped him? Leave him here? Let him go?”

Stiles’ frowned once more. “Take him home…”

Deaton raised a brow condescendingly. “You really think you’re in the condition to be caring for an injured animal? Stiles, you can barely take care of yourself-”

“Anywhere is better than rotting on the streets alone and miserable like he was!” The lights flickered with Stiles anger and Deaton actually snapped his mouth shut, eyes widening slightly. Flinching as the cat whined in fear, Stiles swallowed heavily. “... Just… I can give him somewhere warm for the night and food while I find someone who can take him…”

The vet was silent a long moment, still eying Stiles warily as he reached out and took the cat

“I don’t know how much I can do for him….” Deaton muttered, setting the yowling cat on the table. Stiles flinched, fingers reaching out for the cat as he was pulled from his grasp. The sudden urge to protect and shelter ran through him, something he hadn’t felt since the alpha pack. It was enough to trigger a surge of power that shattered two light bulbs and shorted the electricity for a moment before Stiles reeled it back in.

The lights in the room flickered on and Stiles cringed under the glare Deaton had fixed him with. “Get out.”

“I-”

“Get out.” Deaton ordered again. “Go wait outside. Outside of the clinic. I’ll bring the cat out to you.” The man snapped, deadly calm gone.

“Deaton-”

“Out!”

His chest tightened and breathing became harder as he stumbled out the doors and into the rain. The harsh chill of the air bit at his face and burned his lungs with each gasp of air. The edges of his vision darkened and he sank to the ground, ignoring the wet soaking through his jeans, and fumbled to get his phone from his pocket. With numb fingers, he pressed speed dial one and waited, gasping raggedly for air.

“Stiles?”

“Lydia?” he rasped out, breathing shallowly now, each breath shorter and quicker with a sharper edge to it. His hands were shaking and he closed his eyes to try and get his vision to stop darkening.

“Stiles? Stiles what’s wrong? Where are you?”

“Deaton’s..” he managed to gasp out. He could distantly hear the sound of a car door shutting and an engine starting up.

“Ok. Wait right there. I’ll come to you. Just breathe, Stiles… breathe. We talked about this, remember?” she replied calmly. “Focus on taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly, ok?”

“Ok…” he shakily muttered, taking as deep a breath he could and forcing himself to let it out slowly. 

“Good. Good. I’m almost there, ok?” Lydia’s voice was calming, giving him something other than the odd sharp pain in his chest he could feel as he forced himself to regulate his breathing.

The flash of headlights reflected off the outside of his eyelid and he blinked, pocketing the phone now that Lydia had hung up. She parked and got out, leaving the lights on and car running.

“Stiles…” she called, hurrying over and brushing his sodden bangs from his forehead. His vision had cleared and he could see her worried face clearly in the light of the headlights. “What are you doing out here?”

He swallowed and shook his head. “I.. I found a cat and I brought him… here, because…” He ducked his head in shame, knowing Lydia would make the connection.

She sighed and sat down beside him. He was so going to owe her a new dress for this. Or at least pay for the dry cleaning bill if it was salvageable. “You tried to… didn’t you?”

He just nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. “He was crying out in pain, Lyds… I couldn’t… it hurt to see him like that… to see him…”

“Feeling like you do.” she finished, sighing heavily. Looking around, she frowned. “Where’s the cat?”

“Inside… Deaton kicked me out when I couldn’t control myself… I think I owe him a set of new light bulbs… and maybe repair work on his circuit breaker…”

Lydia just sighed and stood, grimacing as she brushed herself off. “Wait in the car…” she stated, slipping into the clinic. Stiles mildly feared for Deaton’s life. But then he got over it.

She returned shortly after, frowning at him as she noticed his lack of movement. Seeing him still seated on the ground, she sighed and stepped over. “Come on… inside.” she stated, pulling him up by his arm and dragging him inside. He stumbled after her, sopping wet and dripping as he shivered.

Inside, warmth enveloped the duo. At the main desk, a cat carrier sat with a pissed off looking cat inside. Stiles immediately gravitated over to the carrier, fingers slipping between the carrier’s metal door and lightly touching the cat’s forehead. A soft murf sounded and the cat pressed into the touch.

“He needs a name…” Deaton muttered, filling out paperwork.

Lydia sighed. “Fine… How about-”

“Schrödinger..” Stiles spoke up. Lydia blinked.

“Seriously?” she asked skeptically.

Stiles just nodded. “Yeah…”

“Alright then…”

 

“Stiles? I’m home!” John Stilinski called, stepping into the house. Rushed footsteps sounded, Lydia shooting down the hall and into the entryway. She hit the rug and slid slightly, stumbling into the sheriff where he caught her. She blinked owlishly at him for a moment, an action scarily similar to his own son, before she recovered and smoothed out her clothes and hair.

“Hello, Mr. Stilinski!” She chirped, grinning widely. John just blinked and lifted a brow. There were times he worried about the young woman’s sanity. “So! Uh… before you go any further, um… just… uh… don’t be surprised, ok? He found it and I know it looks diseased, but he connected with it and now he’s brought it home after taking it to Deaton’s and-.... he’s just… really smiling… like he hasn’t in a long time.” Lydia rushed out, deflating a bit as she glanced over her shoulder and bit her lower lip.

John frowned a bit, confused until he heard a soft cooing sound from further in.

“Atta boy….” his son’s voice carried softly. It was a tone he’d never heard before his son’s voice.

Curiosity peaked, John stepped around Lydia, setting a hand on her shoulder and stepping further into the main house. The living room was empty and he continued on to the kitchen. There, in the door, he stopped.

His son was seated in the kitchen at the center island counter, leaning against it as he rested his elbows on the granite tops. He cradled his head in a hand, one hand outstretched and stroking along the back of a worn looking cat as it ate from a bowl of tuna.

But it was the look on his son’s face that stopped him. For once in the last few months, Stiles didn’t look anguished or broken. He looked healthier, his skin taking on a bit of its color once more as he smiled softly down at the cat.

It was that simple expression that melted his heart and he sighed. “...We’re going to have to pick up some cat toys tomorrow…” he stated, grabbing his son’s attention.

Blinking, Stiles lifted his gaze to his father before smiling a bit more. “... ok…”

 

Jingle jingle jingle

…

Jingle jingle jingle

…

A groan and click as the light turned on. Bleary eyed, Stiles lifted his head and glared at the foot of his bed, cat stuck in an odd position on its butt and leg up, paw hooked under the sky blue collar.

“Meow…”

“I’m not taking it off you. Now go to sleep.”

“Merow…”

 

He felt sick. His stomach was unsettled and the thought of food was enough to trigger his gag reflex. Too strong smells gave him a headache and the leftover traces of Lydia’s perfume clinging to her clothes in the small patch of his closet she’d claimed (for her nights spent at the Stilinski household playing babysitter and therapist over makeovers and slowly fashioning Stiles into the stereotypical gay best friend - of which he was fighting against valiantly, thank you very much) were enough to render him immobile from the sheer pounding behind his eyes. Noise hurt and his ears rang.

His entire body felt like it was rebelling against him. He’d have liked nothing more than to curl up and just stop existing until the pains in his stomach went away and the crawling feeling under his skin disappeared. 

He’d been scratching at his arms for the last hour. Red marks marred his arms and blood had started to bead in places where he’d applied more pressure. The drag of his uncut nails scraped away layers of skin cells, leaving small patches that would forever scar, the shapes mimicking mockingly the pattern left by a werewolf’s claws when partially shifted.

He whimpered, moaning softly in a silent plea for it to be done when a cool nose touched the side of his face. Blinking open his eyes, he met the green and blue eyed gaze so like Derek’s it caused his breath to hitch in his throat. Schro stood there, staring at him with wide eyes, purring softly. Sniffling, Stiles wiped a hand over his face to wipe away tears, a smear of blood left in its wake. Schro just muscled his way between Stiles’ arms and curled against his chest. Stiles let him, the cat’s sandpaper tongue dragging across his jaw and lulling him to sleep as the cat continued to clean the skin bared to him.

Lydia found him an hour later, asleep and blood dried on his skin and under his nails. His nose was buried in Schrödinger’s fur, the cat purring loudly as he slept beside the teen.

 

Tika tika ticka ticka…. ticktickticka…. shuffle…. shuffle shuffle….

“God damn it! Where’d it go? I just had it-”

Rip shuffle shuffle…. 

“Merrrrowrr…….!”

Shuffle shuffle shuffle…… thump! crumple crumple…

“Schro~! Seriously?! I need those!”

“Mrowrrrrrrrrr….”

“Schro!”

“Mrowr!”

“Give it here, damn it!”

Hiss, shuffle shuffle…

“Schrödinger! No! Bad! Gollums are not to be chewed on! No! Give me those!”

Rrrrriiiip! Thud!

“Ow…”

“Mew?”

“Aaaaand there go my notes….”

“Mrrrrow~”

“.................. Hell spawn…”

 

“So… let me get this straight…” Lydia started, staring at Stiles’ desk where the teen was currently directing his own glare. “You… didn’t get anything done last night… because the cat wouldn’t let you?”

Stiles crossed his arms and glared a bit more at where Schrödinger was currently sunning himself on the shredded remains of Stiles’ notebook bestiary. Well, what was left of it and not scattered around the room in scraps. “He’s the devil, Lydia… pure evil, I tell you.”

“...He’s a cat, Stiles.”

 

“Sometimes… I feel like no one wants me around, you know?” Stiles whispered, fingers running through the silky fur of the purring cat on his chest. Schro was dead weight as he lay comfortably atop his human pillow, letting him speak while being adored. “... Like Scott would be fine with the pack… he spends most of his time with them anyway… Lydia just comes around to make sure I’m not about to destroy the world or something… and my dad… my dad can’t even look at me the same anymore….”

Green eyes opened and focused on him, blinking as the cat watched him steadily. “... I think about ending it all, you know? … But then you meow or curl up with me and I forget about it…. I forget about being alone… I forget that he left…. and I’m just…. I feel like me again….” He whispered to the quiet cat, resting his forehead to the top of the cat’s head. He closed his eyes, holding Schro close.

“Thank you….”

 

“Son, I’m heading into wo-” John Stilinski paused in the doorway to his son’s room. He blinked a few times, letting the sight before him really sink in before he smiled.

Curled up on his bed, Stiles lay twisted with his legs to the side and his torso twisted onto his back. A book rested opened on his chest, _The Hobbit_ emblazoning the cover in faded print. His head was tilted to the side, his face pressed into the warmth of the cat’s head as it slumbered curled into his arm and shoulder.

Sighing softly, the sheriff stepped in and marked the page, setting the book aside now closed. He lifted the blanket up a bit more to cover his son and pressed a kiss to his temple. Blinking, Schro lifted his head and murfed softly at him. John just scratched the cat’s ears.

“Thank you…” he whispered, watching the cat yawn before laying its head on Stiles’ chest once more and returning to sleep.

Content that they were safe, John stepped out of the room and shut the door silently behind him.

 

“So… What are we going to do?” Scott asked, looking over Stiles and Schro where they were seated on the teen’s bed. 

“I think…” Stiles sighed, stroking the cat’s fur. “It’s just another pack and we’ll handle it…”

“Yeah, but… We don’t have De-”

“We’ll handle it…” Stiles stated, fixing his friend with a look.

 

The door to Stiles’ room slammed open as the teen stormed in. On his bed, Schro jolted awake, eyes wide as he looked around the room started.

“Who the HELL does he think he is!?” Stiles snapped, slamming his door shut with enough force to rattle the walls. Schro shrank into Stiles’ pillow, watching him with wide owlish eyes as he paced the floor of his room. “That jerk! Gone for six fucking months! Left without a single god damned word from him and his big douchey head! And now he thinks he can waltz right back in and act like nothing’s fucking happened!? Well of course he does! He’s ‘I’m-the-big-bad-alpha-asshole-Derek-Hale! I can do whatever the fuck I want!’ GAWD!”

He kicked his computer chair, growling in frustration and throwing it across the room. It crashed into his dresser with little force and fell heavily to the floor. 

“We went through hell and he comes back in here like nothing’s wrong and steps in thinking he can fix everything by helping us out!? He has no fucking idea what the hell we’ve been through! What I’ve been through! And he just jumps in to save my ass when I didn’t even need it! And not a single fucking word from him the entire time! No greeting! No worry! Not even a single god damned hello!”

He let out a ragged scream of frustration and sank to the floor.

“I hate him! I hate him so fucking much! Hate him and his fucked up eye brows! And his douchey car and leather jacket! And his god awful hair! I hate him for leaving us! I hate him for staying away! I hate him for coming back! I hate that he made me love him!” he sobbed out, clutching at his chest as he struggled to breathe through his tears.

A soft mew sounded to his side and Stiles turned, engulfing the cat in his arms and sobbing into the rabbit soft fur he’d come to find comfort in. “Why did I have to fall in love with him?” He whimpered pathetically.

 

Derek eyed the cat dubiously, green eyes boring into him. If there was ever a “fuck you” look, it was the one the small ball of grey and cream fur was giving him now. “Stiles…”

“Isn’t he cute? His name’s Schrödinger.” Stiles chirped happily, grinning widely as he flopped down on the bed beside the cat and nuzzled his face into the cat’s side, blowing a raspberry.

Derek hesitated a moment before reaching over, withdrawing his hand quickly as the cat hissed at him. “Where’d you find him?”

“On the street.”

“He smells, Stiles.”

“Like what?”

“Like death.”

Stiles scoffed. “Pfft. Naw.. I just gave him a bath yesterday.”

 

“God I ache…” Stiles muttered, peeling his shirt off over his head and tossing it to the floor across the room. From by the window, Derek watched him, eyes trailing along the toned body slowly being exposed to him.

“Maybe you should stop trying to talk Isaac into sparing with you so roughly, then..” Derek countered, stepping over and sliding his hands from Stiles’ hips and up his sides to settle on his chest.

The teen snorted and turned his head, pressing a kiss to Derek’s lips. “Hush… let me make my own foolish decisions…” he muttered, kissing him once more and pulling away to strip out of his jeans. “Now, you gonna join me in bed or not?”

Derek rolled his eyes and stripped down as well. He paused here, hesitating at the edge of the bed as the cat stared up at him with a look that screamed “what now bitch?”. This had happened every night since he and Stiles had become a solid item, so to speak. The cat would position himself strategically to make it nearly impossible for Derek to get into bed. And if he managed that, the damned thing was always between the two of them.

Sighing, he slipped into the bed and contorted his body into place, curled around the cat so he wouldn’t touch him, but too far from Stiles for his liking. Huffing, he slumped. He was never going to win with this cat.

 

Stiles giggled, the sound carrying from Derek’s- no… _their_ room. Derek paused on the steps to smile, shifting the box of Stiles’ clothes in his arms before making his way into the upstairs hall and through the door to the bedroom.

The Hale house had been rebuilt shortly after Derek’s return to Beacon Hills the second time. He’d finally managed to convince Stiles to move in with him a week ago and today was the big day. Stiles was a mere month off of his nineteenth birthday and they’d been happily together now for nearly a year. Things had steadied out in the pack, old wounds starting to heal over.

“Hey… stop that…” Stiles laughed, Derek’s gaze going to the young man and softening as he watched him play with the ever present Schro. Some how, the cat had begun to warm up to Derek. Warm up, here, meaning the cat tolerated him. Currently, the cat was playing with a string from Stiles’ lacrosse stick, the netting having unraveled from disuse and the shifting from moving.

He was happy. His mate was happy and it was enough to make Derek happy.

He froze in the doorway, letting that settle in. Mate… yeah, he liked the sound of that.

 

The house was quiet as Derek stepped inside. The door fell shut softly behind him as he removed his shoes and made his way through the halls. “Stiles?” he called softly, knowing the man would be home by now from training. He didn’t get a response, but he could pick out the steady beat of his mate’s heart and followed it up to their bedroom. He entered and tilted his head. “Love?” he asked softly, looking him over.

Stiles was seated on the bed, legs crossed and Schro laying on his lap. The cat’s eyes were closed and the feline still as Stiles’ hands slowly and lovingly stroked over the fur, smoothing it down with each stroke. Stiles was too quiet. Shro was too still.

Derek suddenly realised he could only hear one heartbeat.

“...Stiles?”

The man didn’t look up, just kept his gaze on Schro and continued to pet him. “....He didn’t wake up…” he finally said, his voice surprisingly steady. “We took a nap and he didn’t wake up…”

Derek took a small step forward and Stiles sniffled, lifting a hand to his face to rub at his eyes, the other still petting Schro.

“I tried calling Lydia… she was busy with classes and I knew you were in class….” He lifted his gaze, brown eyes ringed with red and unshed tears. “I didn’t want to disturb him….” He got out, voice cracking. “Just… wanted to hold him one more time… let him know it’s all ok… Know he was happy… and loved…” Stiles’ voice broke and he let out a small sob.

Derek crossed the room in two strides and wrapped Stiles into his arms, rocking slowly side to side. “Hey… Hey…. He knew, Stiles… He knew…”

“He didn’t wake up… He isn’t going to wake up, Derek…”

The house’s silence broke with the sound of grief.

 

“Mom?” Laura’s voice sounded, drawing Stiles’ attention away from the paper work he was looking over and towards his five year old daughter. She stood by the fireplace in the office, peering up at the mantle.

“Yes, Laura?”

She looked back over to him, eyes wide and curious. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to a small stone urn near the center of the mantle. It was a small box of white marble, a cat curled up with a pair of angel wings spread out overhead as it slept. It looked at peace. On the front, engraved in a silver plaque was “Schrödinger” with the words “My first anchor in the Hurricane of life” directly underneath. The sky blue collar sat looped around the base of the urn, name tag and bell hanging off the edge of the mantle.

Stiles swallowed the small lump in his throat as he looked at it, remembering when Derek had helped him pick it out.

“...That’s Schrödinger…” he answered, voice soft as he remembered the soft jingle of the cat’s belled collar.

“Who’s that?”

“.... My guardian angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ok... so... here's what's up.
> 
> On Friday, Oct. 11, 2013, I took my eldest (and first) cat to the vet. She had a swollen bite that I was taking her to get looked at and while there the vet found tumors covering her belly. Due to her age (14), the vet decided it wasn't likely she'd make it through surgery. I was pretty much given the news that I had 5 to 6 months left with my oldest and closest friend.
> 
> So I'm currently trying to let that settle and meanwhile, spend as much time with her as I can and make her as comfortable as I can. She's given me 14 amazing years of companionship and I want to do all I can to pay her back in kind for all the joy she's given me.
> 
> Smokey was the inspiration for Schrödinger. From her personality down to her looks, she is very much my own Schro. Because there were times growing up that I honestly didn't know if I was really living or not until she'd curl up with me or demand I come play.
> 
> So thank you to you guys for reading. And thank you to [my baby girl, my friend, my guardian angel](http://i1206.photobucket.com/albums/bb442/FlurryOfDancingFlamesVIII/IMG_0098_zpsf4a486ed.jpg), for keeping me grounded all these years.


End file.
